Aboard the Dragon Ship
by JohnGreenGirl
Summary: A short story set between the time Jon returns from the Wright mission in 'Beyond the Wall' (S7E6) and Jon and Daenerys land in King's Landing in 'The Dragon and the Wolf' (S7E7). Jon and Daenerys spend quite a bit of time together while on the ship. Exploring their relationship before it was solidified in the finale. Rated M only for, you know, incest. [COMPLETE]
1. The First Day

**The First Day:**

The first day after Jon's return, Daenerys sat beside his bed for hours. She felt she owed it to this man, this King in the North that she had previously snubbed her nose at. He was truly a king, earning the name through his actions.

Daenerys hoped she wasn't holding a vigil. She kept her eyes trained on his scarred chest, to ensure his shallow breaths continued. It felt like it took days, but those dark eyes of his finally fluttered open.

And once he was awake, he took her hand and named her his Queen, something that suddenly didn't really matter to her anymore. What mattered was that he was alive, not the words he spoke. Even after his fealty was proclaimed, she lingered.

"We all thought you were dead," Daenerys told Jon, slipping her hand back into his.

Jon nearly froze to death after slipping from Drogon's back and landing in the same icy waters Viseron had. Jon came back with a wild tale—his undead uncle Benjen had given Jon his horse and sacrificed what was left of his life so that the King in the North might live.

"I thought so, too." A rueful smile played at Jon's lips. "When I fell asleep, I thought 'This is it. I've lost. Some king I am, huh?'"

This made Daenerys smile and shake her head.

"I'm sure you're a great king," Daenerys tried to reassure him. "You must be, for the people of the North to choose you."

"That's a backhanded compliment," Jon countered. "You were chosen, too. Besides, I was only 'chosen' because I'm a bastard from House Stark and it is unknown if my brother Bran still lives."

His hand was terribly cold around hers, but she didn't care. Jon's skin was paler than she had ever seen it, and as a Northerner, he was always pale. Dark circles stood out under his eyes, and the scars littering his chest looked like angry red slashes. But he was alive.

Daenerys could tell that speaking was tiring him out. His voice was coming out in a hoarse almost-whisper. Still, Jon seemed to be fighting sleep. His eyes lids drooped and shot back up.

"You need rest," Daenerys said, beginning to pull her hand away. Jon's fingers tightened around hers.

"Stay…please." She had to smile. Just minutes ago, he named her his Queen, and now he was trying to tell her what to do. Daenerys _did_ stay, though. She stayed longer than she meant to, in fact.

Jon fell asleep quickly, but even in his sleep his hand held solidly to hers. Daenerys didn't try to pull away. Instead, she folded herself forward in her chair and rested her head against their joined hands. While she rested her head, she watched Jon sleep.

What Daenerys didn't anticipate was for her own eyelids to grow heavy. Without even meaning to, she fell asleep still holding onto the hand of Jon Snow.

This is how Missandei found her queen several hours later. Hand linked with a bastard king, her lips pressed against their clasped hands even in her slumber. Missandei shook her head and hurried to Daenerys' side.

"My Queen," Missandei whispered, trying to rouse her lady while also not disturbing Jon Snow. "It is not right for you to be here, like this."

Head fuzzy and heavy with sleep, Daenerys let Missandei lead her out of Jon's chambers. She was vaguely aware of how cold her cheek now felt without Jon's body heat.

Daenerys fell into her own bed with thoughts of Jon still running through her mind. She didn't want to admit it, not even to herself, but her heart was light with the relief that Jon was alive and safe—for now at least.

Snuggling her head into her pillows, Daenerys tried not to think of Jon's curls or his dark eyes that burned like coals, or the exposed scars that littered his muscular chest and stomach.

"A queen doesn't need a king," she whispered to herself, even though she knew that Jon was a very strong _want_ even if he wasn't a necessity.


	2. The Second Day

**The Second Day:**

On the second day, Jon and Daenerys ate together. Their shared meal was stew, thick and hearty, and mulled wine. Tyrion had insisted on the wine. He said it would warm Jon's belly and brighten his spirits.

"I didn't realize Tyrion was a Maester now," Jon teased when Daenerys brought the food in on a tray. "Don't you have a handmaiden?"

"Missandei is loyal to me, not to you. A handmaiden? What do kings know of handmaidens?"

"I thought all ladies had one. My siblings' mother had one. And my sisters had a nurse, who was basically the same thing." She settled the tray across Jon's lap and sat beside him on his bed.

"I didn't grow up with a nurse or a handmaiden," Daenerys said, breaking off a chunk of bread and dunking it into the stew. "I grew up in hiding. You said, 'your siblings' mother'. You grew up with the Starks…shouldn't she be considered your mother, too?"

Jon shook his head emphatically. It disrupted his silky black curls, loose from the usual bun he wore.

"Catelyn never liked me. I never called her mother. I don't think I addressed her at all. I just tried to stay out of her way." Jon had to give it to Tyrion. The wine _did_ warm him from the inside out a bit. Even with the heavy fur blankets, he had been cold since returning safe and mostly sound.

He held the wine in both hands, letting the metal cup warm them. "My real mother died. In childbirth."

"As did mine." The door to Jon's chamber was closed. Had it been open, he wasn't sure if Daenerys would have held the bowl to his lips for him to sip down some stew, but she did.

"We aren't so different then, are we, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen?" Jon asked once she moved the bowl away, his lips quirking into a smirk under his moustache. He was blunt. He didn't put on airs. He still didn't call her 'queen'. For some reason, though, Daenerys liked that.

Jon liked the saucy tilt of her eyebrow and the little smirk playing at her lips. "I suppose not, Jon Snow, a bastard of House Stark."

"I mean," Jon continued, accepting a piece of bread from Daenerys, "I don't have any dragons. But I do have a creature thought to be long dead from this world…a direwolf named Ghost."

"Ghost?" Daenerys asked, her eyebrow raised in question. Jon nodded.

"He's all white, just like your hair." He reached up and tugged on a loose lock. "I don't know how they ever hid you with that Targaryen hair of yours."

Daenerys felt herself blush, something she was certain hadn't happened since her girlhood.

"It wasn't my hair that made it difficult," Daenerys confessed. "I liked to explore as a little girl. I don't know how many times I got in trouble for sneaking out."

"Sounds like my little sister, Arya." Jon smiled fondly when he said his sister's name. "She never liked people telling her what to do, either. Arya would've rather gone hunting with me and Robb than sit inside and sew with Sansa."

Jon liked to talk about his siblings. Daenerys liked to listen. His stories made her almost jealous. She never got to know Rhaegar and Viserys was more of a bully than anything. After all, he _did_ sell her to the Dothraki. But Jon's stories were heartwarming in a way.

It was obvious they loved each other, all the Stark siblings, even with Jon's bastard status. Daenerys wasn't sure Viserys had ever even liked her, and she was left to only hope and fantasize that a relationship with Rhaegar would have been better had he lived.

Daenerys drained what was left of her wine to clear her head of thoughts of Viserys. She never much liked how he could still take up space in her life all these years later. "Tyrion tells me it's inappropriate for me to be here with you with the doors closed."

"And now he's a highborn woman, overly concerned with reputation." Jon's lighthearted jab brought a smirk to Daenerys' face.

"He means well," she said in defense of her Hand. "Though I have to agree. I don't think they get much say, do they? In what a king or queen does?"

"I'm still a king to you?"

"I've seen what lies beyond the Wall now. I am not so sure I want the North." This, surprisingly, made Jon chuckle.

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "You've spent too many days in the sun to want the North. You ride dragons. You have fire in your veins, not snow."

"So, it's more than just the name, then?" Daenerys teased.

"I am the North, and the North is me. It's what I grew up knowing. It's where I want to stay."

"Yet you've come a long way from the North to meet what Cersei Lannister would call a traitor and a usurper, and you've pledged yourself to the same traitorous usurper."

Jon shrugged. And then he nodded. "I did what I think is best for the North, and that's you."

Daenerys wasn't sure if she really saw Jon's eyes flicker down to his scars or if she imagined it.

"I try my best, but I'm not sure I know how to lead."

"Says a man who led a mission to bring an undead monster back from an icy wasteland just to try to make a Mad Queen believe in something that sounds more unbelievable than she does."

"If the Night King and the white walkers are not stopped, there won't be a world left for anyone to rule. All the wildfire in the world won't save Cersei Lannister if she won't listen to reason."

Daenerys broke the last of the bread in her hands. She gave Jon the bigger piece. "Only a true king would try to save the world. Or a stupid one. I haven't decided yet."

Jon smiled, but he was still weak, and the exhaustion was clear on his face. Now that their meal was done, Daenerys set the empty bowls and cups back on the tray.

"I'll be back tomorrow to puzzle over which you are more: brave or an idiot."

"I'll look forward to it," Jon's eyes were already drifting closed. Daenerys thought he would be out immediately, but as she left, she heard him whisper, 'my queen'.

The smirk Daenerys saw on his face made her roll her eyes, but she felt her lips curve into a smile nonetheless. This Jon Snow was truly unlike anyone she had ever met before.


	3. The Third Day

**The Third Day:**

On the third day, Daenerys touched Jon's scars. She thought Jon was sleeping soundly when she entered his chamber. She thought she would be safe to touch the very thing that perplexed her mind.

Ser Davos had said Jon took a knife to the heart. Daenerys had thought that was a figure of speech the day she met Jon in her throne room. But there was a scar on his chest that sat right over his heart. Could it possibly mean that those words Ser Davos spoke could be true? No matter how improbable?

She had wanted to know if that was true since the day she saw the scars marking his chest. Carefully, so carefully, she tiptoed toward Jon's bed and laid her hand gently atop the scar.

What she wasn't expecting was for Jon's hand to cover hers, pressing her palm flat against his scarred skin. Underneath their hands, she could feel his heart beating.

"He wasn't exaggerating." Jon's words came in a whisper. His eyes were closed when he first spoke, but when he opened them to look at her, they were dark and troubled.

"Who did it?" He let go of her hand, but Jon was not unaware of how his skin burned from her touch even as she pulled away.

"My men when I was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch." Jon watched Daenerys' eyebrows knit together. He was almost amused at her expression—he could see her piecing things together in her head.

"If you were Lord Commander, how are you now the King in the North? Doesn't one take an unbreakable oath when joining the Night's Watch?"

"The only way out of your oath is death," Jon pointed out. "My watch ended, so I left."

"Do you mean…?" Daenerys began, but her sentence dropped away. Jon smirked at the confused look on her face.

"Don't tell me you just happen to know hordes of men who miraculously survive knives to the heart." Honestly, Daenerys wasn't thinking of Jon at all. She was thinking of Drogo, and how he had been an empty shell when he was brought back from the dead. Yet here was Jon Snow, walking and talking and fighting wars.

"How did you come back?" She asked it so aggressively that Jon was surprised.

"It was the work of the Red Priestess. Melisandre. Believe me, I didn't ask for it."

"Did she use blood magic?!" Daenerys' voice was raising, and she sounded almost hysterical. Jon held a hand out to her, but she pulled away.

"I don't know how any of it worked. I was betrayed by my men and I bled out in the snow. Everything was black for an eternity, and then suddenly I was back in this world."

For the life of him, Jon could not figure out what made Daenerys so upset and brought tears to her eyes. She looked out the window, refusing to meet his eye. Jon sighed.

"Dany," he still liked to call her that, even if it annoyed her a little, "come here. Why are you upset? Tell me what I've done wrong."

Jon was surprised that she came to sit beside him. She was still for several moments, her jaw clenched. He was certain Daenerys was going to ignore him. But instead, she perched herself on the very edge of his bed.

"You've done nothing wrong," she said after several silent moments. "It's just hard to be reminded how cruel and unfair the world can be."

This time when Jon extended his hand, Daenerys took it. She even slipped her fingers between his and squeezed Jon's hand as if she might gain strength through him. Daenerys even laid her head on Jon's shoulder with a sigh so deep he was sure it came from her very soul.

One might expect the mother of dragons to smell like fire and brimstone, but Daenerys did not. The smell of sea salt clung to her hair—she must have been on the upper deck at some point. Underneath that was a warm floral smell that Jon could not name.

They were quiet for so long that Jon's steady breathing almost lulled Daenerys to sleep. With another deep sigh, Daenerys began to speak, her head still resting on Jon's shoulder.

"I lost my husband and my child because of a witch and her blood magic," Daenerys whispered. It was such a contrast to her earlier outburst. "It was my own doing, my own fault. 'Only life pays for life', she told me, and I didn't listen to reason, and I ended up with a dead child a husband who was only alive so much in the fact that he drew breath. He was an empty shell, a body but not a person."

Jon pulled back from Daenerys just enough that he could cup her face between his hands. Softly, he pressed his lips to her forehead. It was the only comfort gesture he could think of. It was all he had ever wanted when he was upset as a child, something he watched all of his siblings receive from their mother.

The kiss seemed to work well enough. Though his eyes were closed, Jon felt Daenerys take a shuddering breath. When she moved, it was forward and slowly. Those blue eyes of hers flickered upward, as if asking permission before she wrapped her arms around Jon's middle and laid her head on the scar she had touched earlier, just over his heart.

"I am thankful, though, for whatever brought you back to this world. I think the King in the North just may be my favorite ally."

Jon's hand came to rest on Daenerys' back. He was warm, finally, after days of persistent cold leaking through his skin. Now she felt the warmth of his chest against her cheek, and the warmth of his hand through her dress.

"That dragon queen is not bad, either." Daenerys' soft laugh almost erased her emotional moment from earlier. Only her own heart betrayed her. Where they were pressed together, Jon could feel her heart still pounding in the aftermath of her confession.

"My sisters' nurse used to tell us stories of magic," Jon ventured. "Her favorite was that nothing around us was real, that we didn't live in a real world. According to her, everything that happened took place in the huge blue eye of a giant."

"I think maybe you got your story-telling from this nurse," Daenerys said softly. She liked the steady, strong thrum of his heartbeat against her cheek.

"Stories are all I have left of my father and two of my brothers," Jon told her. "I have not seen Arya or Bran in years. I would like to think they are still alive."

He did not bother to mention that Sansa was his only family. Daenerys had none. Her parents, her brothers, her husband and her child…all gone.

Jon's hand found its way into her hair. He slowly and gently ran his fingers through the loose strands not restrained in a braid. Though Daenerys was fully relaxed against him, she didn't weigh a thing. Her head moved with each of his breaths.

"I've heard grand stories about my brother Rhaegar. If you don't believe old King Robert's slander, they say he was the people's prince. Well-loved and respected."

"I must admit, I have only ever heard King Robert's version of the stories," Jon told her. "My father and King Robert were good friends. Brothers in arms."

"I'm not meant to fault you for that, remember?" Daenerys asked, calling back their first meeting. How things had changed since she said in her throne and looked down her nose at the King in the North.

"I'm sure you could easily find something to fault me for." Without saying it outright, he was referencing Viserion's death. Daenerys closed her eyes tight. Thinking of losing her dragon stung as much as thinking about losing Drogo and Rhaego.

With her eyes closed, she watched Viserion fall beneath the ice again. There was a hitch in her voice when she spoke again, though she knew her words to be true.

"There is not a thing under the sun that I might fault you for."

"Well, unfortunately for me, the sun hasn't shown itself for so long I've lost track."

"Then I'll judge you by the clouds," Daenerys mused. "You're just as steady and persistent as they have been as of late. But soon we may see the sun. Winter hasn't yet touched King's Landing, has it?"

Daenerys had been so focused on the rhythm of Jon's heart and breathing that she hadn't noticed him swiftly and soundly fall into sleep.

 _Poor Jon,_ she thought. He was not especially tall or large, but he was still solid and strong. That icy water and cold air had taken more strength out of him than she had realized. Or that he was willing to show, rather.

Though Daenerys would have liked to stay where she was many days—perhaps her whole life—she untangled herself from Jon. Mimicking his earlier affection, she cupped his cheeks softly in her hands and returned Jon's kiss on his forehead.


	4. The Fourth Day

**The Fourth Day:**

In the days following freezing nearly half to death, Jon had a persistent stiffness in his hands. It was frustrating to say the least, especially when he was trying to pen a message to send by raven to Sansa.

He could only write for so long until the shooting pains in his fingers forced him to stop. And every time he had to stop, Jon laid down his pen and blew his breath in a way that conveyed exactly how annoyed he was.

Daenerys hid her giggles behind her hand. She was watching her dragons outside the window. Drogon and Rhaegal were determined to catch a whale, having grown bored of diving for fish. The whales had the advantage, though, as they were able to dive much deeper than the dragons could.

Drogon turning to screech in Rhaegal's face after their latest failed attempt left Daenerys shaking her head. The dragons really did play and argue as if they were human brothers, not massive beasts that claimed the skies. She turned her head away from their squabbling to face Jon.

"Perhaps you should wear gloves next time," Daenerys teased Jon while he flexed his fingers against the cramps. Jon rolled his eyes at her.

"I grew up in the North. The cold has never bothered me before."

"But did you ever fall into freezing water and then ride through a snow storm?" Daenerys pulled Jon's hands across the table. She laid them out palms up and began rubbing small, soft circles into them with her thumbs.

Jon drew his breath through his teeth. The massage managed to relieve the cramping and hurt at the same time, sending electric chills down his spine. This was the first day Jon had the strength to leave his bed. He thought he was fully well until his hands decided to feel as if they were turning to stone.

"Robb pushed me into the river once when we were arguing." Jon could no longer remember what the argument was about, only that he had shivered all the way home to Winterfell while Robb laughed.

He liked the way Daenerys' cheeks turned pink when she laughed. She took his right hand into both of hers, working her thumb from his palm to move up and down his fingers. He also liked how small her hands were compared to his own.

"I'm sure you never ran from dead men back then, either." Didn't he, though? When he played at hunting and war with Robb, Jon was running from a dead man. It was only that neither of them knew it yet. Jon pushed the thought from his mind. That was the kind of dreary thing Sansa would think up.

"No. We grew up with their stories, but we never thought we would see them. Same as your dragons." Jon nodded his head to the window. He had learned the sounds of their flapping wings, their screeches and fiery breath that Jon needn't look out the window to know when the dragons were close by. They were never far from their mother, anyway.

Daenerys' thumb paused for a moment, as if focusing on a thought. When it moved again, it was to trace lackadaisical patterns across the skin of Jon's palm.

"Lord Tyrion tells me we'll be in King's Landing before nightfall tomorrow. One more sleep—that's how I measured the days when I was a little girl."

Jon tried to contain his sigh. He didn't want to betray himself and reveal his own apprehension. This was his idea, bringing the wright to Cersei Lannister to make her see, to make her understand. Now he wished he had never thought of it, mostly because it had cost Daenerys a dragon. Secretly, though Jon was feeling better, he still just wanted to sleep, not meet with a Mad Queen.

"I'd like to see our cargo again before we show it to Cersei." When she lifted her eyes, Jon saw how they turned a darker shade of blue. Surely what they had paid for the cargo was weighing on her mind.

He couldn't guess as to _why_ she might want to see the wright, other than to become familiar with it. Now he had seen both Daenerys the Queen and Daenerys the person, and Jon understood Daenerys the Queen liked control. They would need to be in as much control as they could be when meeting with Cersei.

"Trust me, you never get used to seeing the dead," Jon told her. "But if you want to see it, I'll take you down to the hold where the Hound has left it."

The Hound was Jon's second visitor after waking. He wanted to make sure Jon knew it wasn't all for nothing, and they had their 'performance piece' locked in a trunk in the hold of the ship.

"Let's go now, then," Daenerys decided. She stood up from the table, and Jon followed suit, forgetting the message he was writing for Sansa. "Wear your cloak, though. Surely it will be colder down below the water."

Jon smirked at her but did as he was told, settling his thick, fur-lined cloak over his shoulders. He led the way down deep into the belly of the ship, taking a torch from the wall to light their way. Daenerys followed close behind him. She was not quite holding his hand, not now that they were out of his chambers, but she was holding on to his cloak and staying close to him.

"One more corridor," Daenerys whispered to him. "Grey Worm told me they put it in the last room, into the farthest corner."

The superstitious treatment of the wright nearly made Jon chuckle. When Jon rounded the corner with Daenerys in tow, he stopped short. Daenerys did not, and ended up bumping against his back.

"Jon…?" Daenerys said softly, unable to find the courage to peek around his shoulder. But her terror melted away when she heard Jon _actually_ laughing. When she stood on tiptoe to see over Jon's shoulder, Daenerys saw the Hound sitting on a trunk and sharpening his knives.

"What are you doing?" Jon asked, the humor evident in his voice. The Hound looked up from his knives, raising his brows at the pair.

"The Imp told me to guard our treasure, so here I am. Our guest is unsettling to most of the people aboard this ship." When the Hound stood up, he shook the trunk just enough to agitate the wright. The trunk began to rock and muffled sinister snarls sounded from it.

"What are you two doing?" The Hound turned the question back on Jon and Daenerys.

"Queen Daenerys would like to see the treasure."

This made the Hound smile a little, sinister kind of smile. "If she wishes."

Daenerys moved forward only because she was still holding onto Jon's cloak. Jon stopped about halfway across the room. "You said you chained it?"

"Yes. I suppose you don't want it to eat Cersei Lannister…yet." The Hound stepped behind the trunk and steadied it between his hands. "You're going to help me put it back in, Snow."

He moved quickly then, unlocking the chains around the trunk and flinging the lid open before taking several steps back. When the wright came out, it came forcibly. The clang of the trunk being knocked over made Daenerys jump.

Despite its dramatic escape from the trunk, the wright paused for a moment. It acted almost human, as if the time it had spent in the dark affected its eyesight. There was a tense pause before it set its eyes on Jon and Daenerys and lunged forward.

Logically, Daenerys knew the wright was chained and it wouldn't be able to actually reach them. But that didn't stop her from gasping and turning to hide her face against Jon's chest. She closed her eyes tight and felt his arm wrap around her shoulders.

The first time she had seen the undead monsters, she had Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion to protect her. She also had so much adrenaline pumping through her veins, especially after watching Viserion and Jon fall one after the other, that she only felt distantly afraid.

"I've got you, you're safe," Jon whispered to Daenerys. She didn't see it with her face hidden as it was, but Jon moved his other arm to hold the flames of the torch closer to the wright. As the wright stepped back, so did Jon, backing Daenerys out of the room.

He didn't expect her to be that frightened. She had been so brave when she brought the dragons to save them. Jon was used to seeing her usual reactions to things—the defiant jut of her jaw, the determined set of her eyebrows.

It had only been four days since Viserion had fallen at the hands of the White Walkers and the wrights, though. Four days was not a long time.

Daenerys did not lift her head until the were back into the corridor. When she did, embarrassment belied her fear.

"I'm sorry," she said, untangling herself from Jon. "I don't know what came over me."

"You're fine," Jon tried to reassure her. "I told you I had you. I wouldn't have let it hurt you."

He could see how unsettled Daenerys was even as she tried to compose herself. Almost of its own accord, Jon's hand raised to gently stroke her cheek. The way Daenerys lifted her eyes to his made him feel spellbound. When he passed his thumb over her lips, they parted softly under his touch.

"Get in here and help me, bastard!" The Hound's rough voice startled the pair away from each other. Daenerys took a step back and Jon's arm fell lamely to his side.

"I'm going to check our course with Lord Tyrion," Daenerys said. She felt her face heat up with her blush at the way her voice shook.

"I'm helping Clegane, I suppose."

As they parted ways and Daenerys made her way back up through the levels of her ship, she alternated between rubbing her own fingertips along the path Jon's had took and chiding herself. _A queen does not need a king_.

Still, she couldn't deny how safe she had felt pressed against his chest, or how her lips had tingled under his touch.

While Jon helped the Hound wrangle the wright back into the trunk, his mind was still on Daenerys. He thought about the way she had turned to him instantly, as if he were a place she might find comfort. It filled him with a warmth that started low in his middle, a warmth he had not felt since he lost Ygritte.

Not to mention, he had grown so used to her company over the last few days that her absence now felt wrong to him as he returned to his chambers. He had grown used to her shining white hair, so unusual when they had first met. Jon liked the way she revealed things about herself in little spurts. The sounds of her dragons outside his windows no longer unsettled him.

The warm floral scent of her still wafted through his chambers. Jon lifted his bedsheets to his nose, knowing that he would find more of that scent there from all the time she had spent perched beside him while he rested.

He didn't see her again until late in the night, long after he thought he had a chance to. Maybe foolishly, he left his door ajar as he had been for the past few days, so Daenerys might enter.

She appeared there in the crack, still wearing the same dress she had been earlier, but with her hair loose around her shoulders. Missandei had already unwound Daenerys' hair for bed before she decided for pay Jon a visit again.

"You're still awake?" Daenerys' voice came quietly as she pushed the door open. She stepped inside to see Jon shirtless, which she reasoned she should have been used to by then. Still, seeing his broad back turn as he faced her made it hard for Daenerys to lift her eyes for propriety's sake.

"I am," Jon said with a smirk. "Or perhaps you're dreaming."

A little smile played at Daenerys' lips as she stepped forward. "My dreams are rarely so pleasant as this."

She walked far enough into the room to look out the window Jon had been standing at. Outside, the night sky showed the heavy cloud cover she had grown used to dispersing to show the stars hidden beneath. Daenerys had been right; winter had not reached this far south yet.

"I couldn't remember the last time I had seen the stars," Jon admitted. "I think tomorrow morning we may even see the sun."

"I'm sure they would look better on the top deck." This made Jon blow his breath in amusement.

"Didn't you scold me into wearing a cloak to go to the hold earlier today?" Daenerys smirked and waved his words away with her hand.

"Just get dressed, Jon Snow."

"As you wish, Daenerys Targaryen."

Up on the top deck, the night air was cool, but not cold. At least not compared to the temperatures they had endured farther north. The wind picked up strands of Daenerys' hair to play with as she took Jon's hand and let him to the bow of the ship.

The view of the stars was pretty through Jon's window, but it was breathtaking on the top deck.

"I wanted to apologize again for this afternoon," Daenerys told Jon. She ran her hands along the railing, her back to Jon. "I…you told me the dead are always unsettling, and you were right."

Jon doubted the shiver that ran down her back had anything to do with the night air. He took the opportunity to wrap her into his cloak. Daenerys relaxed into him, leaning her back against his chest.

"I shouldn't have agreed to take you down there." She laughed without a trace of humor.

"I've told you before," she said, motioning with her chin to Drogon and Rhaegal. The stamina of the beasts amazed Jon. Four days at sea, and he still couldn't decide when they rested. Apparently tired out from their earlier games, the two were now flying lower and lazily flapping their wings. "They're my children."

She didn't explain further, but there was no need to. Jon understood. To look at the wright was to see Viserion die again.

"It will be different when we show Cersei," Jon told her. "There will be other things to focus on."

Daenerys let her head lull against Jon's shoulder and sigh. "I hope so."

Jon had kissed her once when at a loss for words, just a day prior. He kissed her again, on the top of her floral-scented hair. He didn't know how to put together all the words that he would need to let her know how amazing he thought she was.

It was Daenerys, though, who turned within the circle of Jon's arms to face him. "We'll do it together, right?"

Those were her own words Daenerys was echoing, but Jon nodded. As he nodded, Daenerys caught his face between her hands. She had teased to Missandei that Jon was short, but she still had to stretch onto her tiptoes to kiss him.

Initially, it startled Jon, so much so that he nearly took a step back. But Daenerys had wrapped her arms around his neck by then, holding him in place and pulling him into her. After the shock wore off, Jon's hands slid around her waist and he kissed her back.

Jon was surprised to see the sun had not risen by the time they broke apart. The kiss had lasted so long, his head swam as he took in the stars and Daenerys' hair shining silver in the moonlight and the sounds of the waves lapping against the ship. Everything was too bright and too loud and as he regained his center.

"Yes, together," he said so nearly in a daze that it made Daenerys giggle like a little girl and nuzzle her face into the crook of his neck.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm sorry but I just do not believe that a. the first move was made by Jon, nor that b. the first intimate moment between the two happened in the season finale. So, yeah. Enjoy.


End file.
